King Arthur: Lost Heaven
by LokisKat13
Summary: Dagonet has a sister who he raised since infancy. When he is taken, she follows him, impersonating a male soldier. Finally, fifteen years after he left, they are reunited.
1. Prologue

Prologue: Fifteen Years Earlier

By 300 AD, the Roman Empire extended from Arabia to Britain. But they wanted more. More land. More peoples loyal and subservient to Rome. But no people so important as the powerful Sarmatians to the east. Thousands died on that field. And when the smoke cleared on the fourth day, the only Sarmatian soldiers left alive were members of the decimated but legendary cavalry. The Romans, impressed by their bravery and horsemanship, spared their lives. In exchange, these warriors were incorporated into the Roman military. Better they had died that day.

For the second part of the bargain they struck indebted not only themselves, but also their sons, and their sons, and so on, to serve the empire as knights. My brother was such a son.

Dagonet sat with his back against the animal-hide of the hut, smiling as his little sister, Elowin, played with a wooden horse he had carved for her. She smiled, galloping the wooden animal across the dirt between them, her cobalt eyes sparkling as she looked up to her older brother, her crimson curls bouncing in the cold wind.

"Your aren't supposed to have that until your birthday tomorrow, Elowin," he whispered to her, tugging on a curl. "So keep that hidden from mother and father."

The little girl grinned wider, and leaned forward, hugging her brother awkwardly. "Thank you, Dragon," she said, her voice gentle as she used his nickname. She began playing with the toy again. "How old will I be?" she asked absentmindedly.

"You'll be eight," he said, drawing figures in the mud.

"And you are fourteen?" she asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

He chuckled. "You know it, little Red Bird," he said, using his nickname for her. He ruffled her curls, standing up and grinning as their father and mother came towards them. "Father!" he said, but his smile faded as he caught the expression on their faces. "Mother?"

She quickly embraced him, weeping openly. He gently patted her shoulder, looking to his father as he picked up Elowin. His face paled as he steeled himself. "They're here," he stated, looking at his father as his mother pulled away, her pale face a splotchy red from her tears.

His father simply nodded, holding Elowin tightly as the little girl began to weep. Dagonet stepped forward and gently rubbed her back. "Don't worry, little Red Bird," he whispered to her, smiling bravely. "I'll be back before you know it."

Elowin slipped from their father's arms and began following Dagonet around as he readied his things.

"Here," their father said. He was holding a massive sword, hilt first, toward Dagonet. "You'll take this."

Dagonet nodded at his father and took the sword, strapping it to the saddle on his young, bay stallion. Elowin disappeared into their hut, her long curls flying. When she returned, Dagonet was hugging his mother good-bye. "I'll be all right," he said. Their father placed his hand on the back of Dagonet's shaved head, touching foreheads with his son, who was already as tall as him.

"Dag," Elowin said, tugging on his shirt hem. She hugged her brother, holding him as tightly as she could. When she pulled back, she held out a little wooden figure. "I was working on this for you," she said, putting it in his hand. It was a roughly hewn dragon, no bigger than the palm of his hand.

He smiled, hugging her again before mounting his steed. He rode over to wait near the Roman soldiers while the few other boys of his little village came to join him. As they rode away, he glanced over his shoulder, watching as his little sister stood there, alone, until they were out of sight.

* Ten * Years * Later *

Elowin screamed, clad only in a pair of torn breeches and a billowing and dirty white shirt, trying to fight off the Roman soldiers who held her roughly. "Let me go!" she roared, gnashing her teeth at them as they brought her forcefully towards a fire pit.

There, sitting on the other side of the flames, was Bishop Germanius. He watched her with cold eyes, his hands hidden in the folds of his robes. The soldiers forced her to kneel before him, two on each side of her as they held her in place, their hands on her shoulders. She glared at the Bishop.

"You, Elo, are not who you say you are," he began, rising from his seat. "You have impersonated a man to join my army. What is your purpose?"

She glared at him, smirking devilishly. "It seemed like fun," she drawled, baring her teeth in a snarl.

He chuckled once, moving to stand before her. He bent down, close to her ear. "You are a strong fighter," he said. "Determined. Powerful. Many women have been put to death for the feats you've accomplished." He straightened. "However, you will not die tonight. Instead, you will become my personal guard."

Elowin struggled, growling as the soldiers tightened their grip on her shoulders and wrists.

"You will be branded a witch," he continued, motioning for a branding iron to be brought forward and placed into the fire. "And you shall be marked as such for the rest of your God-given life." As she stared at the heating iron, he motioned for more soldiers. "Hold her," he said, and the two soldiers already restraining her jerked her backward before she could react. Four more came forward and moved to hold her down. A man knelt on both of her shoulders, and two on both of her legs.

As the Bishop pulled the branding iron from the fire, another soldier came forward and ripped open her shirt, exposing her bound breasts and bare torso. The soldier then ripped away the bindings that hid her breasts. The Bishop waited, his cold eyes alive with malice. He pressed the iron onto her chest, right above her left breast. Elowin screamed, tears forming in her eyes, though she refused to cry.

After what felt like hours to Elowin, Germanius removed the iron. Then one of the soldiers jerked down one side of her breeches, exposing her right hip. Without warning, Germanius pressed the iron against her hip. The pain seemed worse than before as he leaned on it. The smell of burning flesh and the pain made Elowin feel sick as he pulled the branding iron away and handed it to his aide.

Just as Elowin thought the torture was done, Germanius removed a jar from the inside of his robe. As he removed the lid, she caught sight of a black paste. He scooped out a large glob of it and smeared it onto her hip. She bit her lip against the pain as it doubled over tenfold. It was worse than the branding itself. The Bishop moved to lean over her, his eyes lingering on her chest as he scooped out more of the paste. As he smeared more on her chest, Elowin lost control, and she screamed. She screamed until her throat felt like it would bleed.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Five Years Later

Elowin woke up screaming, clutching at her chest as she thrashed on her cot. Her red hair, now grown back from her years of cutting it to look like a man, fell around her in curls as tears leaked from her eyes.

"Lady Elowin!" a guard said, bursting into her tent. He stopped short, his face going crimson as he took in her nakedness as she stopped screaming.

"Get out!" she roared at him, glaring.

"But, my lady-"

"Get! Out!" she thundered, standing from her cot, not caring that she wasn't wearing a single shred of clothing as she glared daggers at the poor soldier, who stumbled over himself to exit her tent.

She sighed, moving to look into the mirror that Germanius had given to her after it had become too dull for him to see into. She brushed back her hair, looking to the brand on her chest. The paste that the Bishop had smeared on the wound years before had turned the scar black, with the fresh skin around it as red as blood. It was the same on her hip. Each year, on the anniversary of her branding, the wounds burned as if they were done fresh all over again, each time more agonizing than the previous year.

She sighed, and began brushing out her long, scarlet hair. Once it was smooth, she braided it, the thick cord reaching down to her waist. Then, she silently pulled on her chemise and her long, emerald dress. The neckline stretched up around her throat, the sleeves fitting her arms like gloves. She smoothed out the fabric at her narrow hips before belting on her hand-and-a-half sword in it's gleaming leather sheath. After she pulled on and laced up her boots, she strapped on her twin bone-hilted long daggers, whish ran the length of her calf.

Sighing, Elowin went to stand outside the Bishop's tent as he readied himself. She ignored the comments and looks she received from the soldiers. Nearly all of them knew and hated her, though the newer soldiers still tried their hand at seducing her. They quickly learned why none of the others would go near the red haired woman.

Elowin watched as soldiers took down tents, packing everything. Finally, she was called into the tent. The Bishop was already dressed. "You will ride beside the carriage, Elowin," he said, handing books to his aide, Horton. "We will be leaving shortly. Be ready."

Elowin nodded, bowing before she left the tent. She hurried to find her mare, a sleek silvery steed with a black mane and tail. She smiled as she approached the horse, gently running her hand along the animal's neck. "Hello, my beauty," she whispered as the horse nickered. Elowin smiled as she began to saddle up. She refused to let anyone else touch her horse, instead taking on the animal's care herself.

*A * FEW * HOURS * LATER *

Elowin rode beside the carriage, her bow strapped to her back while the quiver was belted on the saddle in front of her. None of the other soldiers rode near her, and she was perfectly fine with that. She was tired, and anxious to get to the wall. Today was the day she'd been looking forward to for the past five years. Today, they would be meeting Arthur and his knights. She would be reunited with her brother. This is the reason she'd tried dressing as a man and joining the soldiers. To find her beloved brother.

She glanced toward the tree-line, noting the fog that drifted slightly. It made her uneasy, and she drew her bow, readying an arrow. Suddenly, one of the soldiers ahead fell from his horse, a rough arrow protruding from his chest. Elowin sat up straighter as Woads poured from the trees. She loosed arrow after arrow, killing many as they swarmed upon the caravan.

As they grew closer, she drew her sword, leaping down from her mare. She fought viciously, soon getting covered in blood that was not her own. A battle cry alerted her to the arrival of new allies, and she turned to see seven horsemen ride into the battle, their weapons drawn.

So distracted by their arrival, Elowin didn't see the Woad bearing down on her until he swung his blade. Almost too late, she blocked with her sword. The tip of his blade caught her right forearm, and Elowin hissed as blood began dripping down her arm. Roaring in anger, she attacked with renewed vigor, easily defeating the bewildered Woad. She took down another enemy, and another, earning no more wounds as she defended her life.

Finally, there were no more. She knelt down, breathing heavily as she prayed, asking God for forgiveness for the death she caused. When she stood, she examined her arm. The cut was shallow, and wouldn't demand any immediate attention.

"Are you all right, lady?" asked a gruff voice behind her.

"I'll live," she said before she turned. The knight who faced her was tall, his head shaved. His grey eyes danced as Elowin gazed at him. Her mouth fell. "Dagonet?" she asked, her voice shocked.

"Red Bird?" he whispered in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

She didn't say anything. Instead, she flung herself into her brother's arms, and he swung her around, chuckling lowly as he held her. When he finally set her down, he glanced above her head, seeing the others preparing to ride off. "Come," he said, taking her hand. "We have much to talk about."

While they rode together, separated from the rest, Elowin told Dagonet about the sickness that attacked their village just a few short years after he left. She told him how their mother died first, how their father made her promise to find Dagonet if she could.

"I was the only survivor from that winter," she said, her voice sad.

"...won't you, Dag?" called a knight from ahead of them.

"How did you come to be with the Bishop?" Dagonet asked.

Elowin explained how she cut her hair, bound her breasts, and began living a life as Elo, the soldier. She didn't tell him of her branding, instead choosing to tell him that the Bishop accepted her as his personal guard. By the time she finished telling of her life so far, they had reached the Wall.

"I must go see to my Master," she told him as they dismounted.

He nodded. "Meet me at the stable after," he said, handing his reins to Jols.

Elowin smiled, moving to follow Germanius as he made his way to Arthur's rooms, Horton by her side. The aide tried to avoid looking at her, sickened by the sight of the blood coating her body. She flashed him a grin when he did look at her, which only made him blanche and look away.

They stopped at the doors to the room. "Elowin, you may clean up," Germanius told her, hardly glancing at her blood-stained dress. "Be ready in two hours."

She bowed before hurrying off to the rooms that had been made ready for her. A wash basin was waiting for her, and she quickly stripped her soiled dress and climbed into the steaming water, rejoicing as her sore muscles released. She unbraided her hair and began washing. When she was through, the water was cold and dirty. She dried herself, brushing out her long hair by the fire. The wound on her arm began bleeding again, so she quickly bound the shallow cut with a strip of cloth. When it was time, she dressed herself in a simple black dress. The neckline of the gown plunged low, but black lace covered her breasts up to her neck. She checked the looking-glass, satisfied when her brand was barely visible.

She hurried to the meeting hall, fixing her hair into a simple twist before she arrived. She sat beside Dagonet, who poured her a goblet of wine. They talked together quietly, until one of the men called out to them.

"Well, looks like Dag finally found a woman!" the knight called, and the others began laughing.

"He's trying to catch up to me and my bastards," said another.

"Stuff it, Bors," Dagonet told him.

Elowin leaned closer to her brother. "Who are they, what are their names?" she asked, glancing around the table.

"The loud one there is Bors," he said. "He's been like a brother to me through these years. The one with the long, yellow hair is Gawain. The one beside him, that's Galahad. They are the youngest ones here. The one with the dark hair and the beard is Lancelot."

Elowin nodded. "What about him?" she asked, nodding at the man with the dark hair and the tattoos on his face. "What's his name?"

"Tristan," Dagonet said in a whisper.

Elowin watched the man carefully as he picked at the rolls of bread. He never ate them, just balled up the bits and left them on his plate. Suddenly, he looked up and met her gaze. His dark eyes mesmerized her, and she felt a blush creep into her cheeks.

"Let us not forget that we are the fortunate ones," Arthur said, rising from his seat. Everyone else stood silently. "Let us raise our wine to those gallant and extraordinary men we have lost, but who will be remembered for eternity."

They all drank, Elowin taking a sip as she gently touched Dagonet's elbow.

"To freedom!" Bors said, raising his goblet again. The other echoed the toast, drinking more.

They sat down, continuing their conversations.

"His Eminence," Horton announced, and Elowin quickly stood, stepping away from the round table, "Bishop Naius Germanius."

The Bishop walked in, a smile on his face. The smile slowly melted when he saw the table, and his eyes grew dark.

"A round table?" Horton hissed to Jols. "What sort of evil is this?"

"Arthur says for men to be men, they must first all be equal," Jols replied as serving women brought in more wine.

"I was given to understand there would be more of you," Germanius said, glancing around the table before looking to Arthur.

"There were," replied the knight. "We have been fighting here for fifteen years, Bishop."

"Oh, of course," Germanius replied, motioning for the servants to hand out the goblets. "Arthur and his knights have served with courage," he said, walking around the table, "to maintain the honor of Rome's empire on this last outpost of our glory. Rome is most indebted to you noble knights. To your final days as servants to the empire." He raised his own goblet.

"Day, not days," Lancelot corrected, his eyes dark.

Germanius chuckled once, motioning for them all to sit. Elowin stayed standing behind Dagonet, her eyes glancing at each of the knights as the Bishop continued. "The Pope's taken a personal interest in you. He inquires after each of you, and is curious to know if your knights have converted to the word of Our Savior or...?

"They retain the religion of their forefathers," Arthur said. "I have never questioned that."

Germanius smiled briefly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course, of course," he said. "They are Pagans, then?" He glanced around at each of them, his eyes cold. "For our part, the Church has deemed such beliefs innocence, but you, Arthur, your path to God is through Pelagius?" He turned to look at the knight commander. "I saw his image in your room."

"He took my father's place to me," Arthur said, his voice low. "His teachings on free will and equality have been a great influence. I look forward to our reunion in Rome."

Elowin bit her lip, her brow furrowed.

"Ah," Germanius said, and she could tell he was nervous. He recovered quickly. "Rome awaits your arrival with great anticipation. You are a hero. In Rome, you will live out your days in honor, and wealth.

"Alas...Alas, we are all but players in an ever-changing world," he continued. "Barbarians from every corner are almost at Rome's door. Because of this, Rome and the Holy Father have decided to remove ourselves from indefensible outposts, such as Britain." He stood, opening a narrow box. The knights all stood, and Elowin could see their eyes on the box. "What will become of Britain is not our concern anymore. I suppose the Saxons with claim it soon."

"Saxons?" Arthur asked.

"Yes," Germanius confirmed. "In the north a massive Saxon incursion has begun."

"Saxons only claim what they kill," Lancelot said, his dark eyes glaring into the table, his voice angry.

"And only kill everything," Gawain said, almost as if in shock.

"o you would just leave the land to the Woads," Galahad asked, his voice rising as he slowly stood from his seat. "And I risked my life for nothing."

"Gentlemen," Germanius said, "your discharge papers with safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire." They all shifted, as if ready to pounce on the scrolls. "But first, I must have a word with your commander."

Elowin had to hold back a laugh as they stared at Germanius, clearly refusing to leave.

"In private," the Bishop insisted.

"We have no secrets," Arthur said.

"Come," Lancelot sighed. "Let's leave Roman business to Romans." He smirked at Germanius and picked up his goblet, walking from the room. The others followed, Dagonet glancing back to Elowin. She nodded towards him, and quickly slipped out of a door on the other side of the room.

She came to a hallway that she didn't recognize, and she glanced around. She chewed on her lip as she hurried through the halls. Suddenly, she ran so hard into someone that she fell backwards, the other person falling on top of her. She closed her eyes as the breath was pushed out of her. She felt the person on top of her shift, and she opened her eyes to come face-to-face with Tristan.

She felt her face heat in embarrassment as she gazed into his mesmerizing brown eyes. "I..." she tried to apologize, but couldn't find the words.

He stood, watching her as she got to her feet. He walked away, glancing back at her as she stammered an apology. Sighing, Elowin began her search for the exit again, looking for the stables where she was to meet her brother.

"There you are!" he said when she finally made it. "Come." He took her hand, leading her to a tavern where the others were drinking and laughing.

Bors lead a woman to the center of the small area. "Shut up!" he roared. "Vanora will sing."

Elowin smiled as she leaned against her brother, and he draped an arm around her. The knights teased her until she finally gave in, gently rocking her infant from side to side.

"Land of bears and land of eagle. Land that gave us birth and blessing. Land that called us ever homewards. We will go home across the mountains. We will go home, We will go home, We will go home across the mountains. We will go home singing our song. We will go home across the mountains. Hear our singing, hear our longing. We will go home across the mountains. We will go home, We will go home. We will go home across the mountains," she sang.

Elowin could tell that the knights were captivated by the song just by the look on their faces.

"Arthur!" Jols called, drawing their attention to the leaving knight commander.

"Arthur!" Galahad said, and they all approached him. "Arthur! You're not completely Roman yet, right?"

hey all laughed while Bors yelled "Rus!"

"Knights...", he looked sad. "Brothers in arms. Your courage has been tested beyond all limits."

"Yes," Bors said, smirking.

"But I must ask you now for one further trial," Arthur continued.

"Drink?" said Bors, taking a gulp of wine.

Elowin smiled as she stood behind Dagonet.

"We must leave on a final mission for Rome before our freedom can be granted. Above the wall, far north, there is a Roman family in need of rescue. They are trapped by Saxons. Our orders is to secure their safety," Arthur said.

Elowin felt her heart stop. She didn't hear anyone else as she slipped away, heading back up to the main house. She was on autopilot as she found her way to Germanius's rooms. She burst in without knocking.

"You're sending them across the Wall?" she demanded.

Germanius looked at her, an eyebrow arched. "If you're referring to the knights," he drawled, "then yes. They leave in the morning."

Elowin was furious. "How can you do this?" she yelled. "They were supposed to be released from this servitude today!" She glared at him as he stood from his table. "How can you just make them go?" She bared her teeth at him. "If they leave, then I'm going with-"

SMACK!

Elowin fell backwards onto the stone floor as Germanius's handprint stung her cheek. She looked up at him, seeing his eyes blaze with light from the fire. "How dare you question me," he fumed, his voice low. She moved to stand, but his fist came out of nowhere, knocking her back down as it connected to her right cheekbone. She cried out as her head hit the stone fireplace.

"You think you can just leave?" he said, perfectly calm as she began to slip into unconsciousness. "I don't think so."

Elowin's world slowly faded. Her last thought was screaming her brother's name.


	3. Chapter 2

**_Clara, thank you for your review. Hope you like this chapter._**

_**I know it's written quickly, I just don't want to lose the idea. Once I have it all written down, I will go back and edit it and flesh it out more.** _

Chapter Two

Elowin awoke slowly, and as she did, she discovered a pain in her face. Suddenly, everything that had happened came back to her. She opened her eyes, though her left one wouldn't open completely and sat up. She felt dizzy for a moment, but that passed quickly as she looked around. She was still in Germanius's room, and the Bishop was sitting in a chair, watching her.

"What did you do?" she whispered, feeling the cut on her lip as she spoke.

"I did as needed," he replied, leaning on his elbow, his palm massaging his temple.

Elowin glared at him, slowly rising. "And you kept me here," she said, her voice a low menace. "You kept me from my brother."

Germanius started to rise himself. "I did what was best for yo-"

She cut him off with one of her bone-hilted long daggers, the blade thrust under his throat as she trembled with fury. "How dare you?" she hissed, venom leaking in her every word. "How dare you?!"

Germanius gave her a weak, nervous smile as he raise his hands in surrender and sat back in his chair. "Elowin, think of what you are doing," he said, his voice holding a slight tremor. "Think of the consequences."

She growled, twisting her wrist around and punching him on his jaw while still clenching the hilt tightly. He fell backwards, taking the chair with him, and she ran from the room, pausing only in her own to gather her other weapons and a small pack of clothes. She strapped her sword to her waist and fastened her hooded cloak around her shoulders, darting down the hall toward the stables.

The villagers stared at her as she readied her horse in haste. She glared at the one stable boy who tried to help her, and he went scurrying away from her heated stare. Just as she was mounting her mare, a small group of soldiers marched into the stables.

"Stop her!" one of them yelled, and Elowin spurred her steed into a canter, kicking at the soldiers who got too near.

She hurried through the village, calling out warnings to the inhabitants as she rode, the soldiers falling behind. She made it to the Gates, yelling at the guard to open them.

"Do it now, or I will have your guts!" she roared, glaring at the poor man, who trembled where he stood. She drew her bow, knocking an arrow in warning. Her nonverbal threat sent the man scrambling to open the massive doors.

Elowin darted through the moment she was able, her hood slipping down in her haste, her hair flying free from the twist she had done it up in two days ago. She hurried, keeping her mare at a dead gallop until she reached the trees, and was forced to slow her pace. The hours ticked by slowly, especially when the rains started. Though it felt good on her swollen and bruised face, she pulled her hood back up and tightened her cloak around her shoulders and chest.

The rain seemed to go on and on, never ending, never letting up. Soon, Elowin was soaked to the bone. She began shivering as she rode into the night, following Arthur and his knights. She didn't dare stop for fear that she'd never reach them in time.

On the next morning, Elowin knew that she was sick. Fever was making her weak, and she was barely able to sit on her horse. She felt dizzy, and the trees were moving from more than just the wind. She began coughing, and tugged the soaked cloak around her tighter.

Finally, the rain stopped. Elowin breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a hacking cough, and she fell sideways from her mare, landing hard on the ground. As she slowly lost conscious from the fever, she saw a shadowy figure lean over her.

* THE * NEXT * DAY *

Elowin awoke, gasping. She sat upright, clutching a knife in her fist, ready to fend off any attacker. Instead of an attacker, she came face to face with Tristan, one of the knights. He watched her carefully, his dark brown eyes guarded.

"Where am I?" she asked, leaning back onto a hay-stuffed pillow. She wasn't clothed, though a thick blanket was covering her before she sat up. "Where is Dagonet?"

Tristan's eyes lingered on the brand on her chest. "You are a determined whore," he mumbled.

Fury burned in her at his words. "I am not a whore," she growled, clenching the dagger again. "I'm Dagonet's sister, Elowin."

He looked at her, shocked for a moment before he slipped from the wagon that she was placed in. She glared at him as he left, then looked around, spotting her pack. She quickly pulled out a dark, hunter green dress and slipped into it, pulling on her worn boots. Her crimson hair hung loose around her, tangled curls giving her a wild look as she slipped from the wagon, belting on her sword and other weapons.

"Elowin!" Dagonet called, striding toward her, a young boy in his arms. Snow fell around them as he set the boy down on the edge of the wagon. "His arm is broken."

She smiled gently at the boy, who looked from Dagonet to her, his eyes wide. Elowin snatched a water skin from one of the villagers and held it to the boy's lips. "Drink slowly, or you'll be sick," she told him, gently brushing back his dark blonde curls. She looked to her brother. "His family?"

Dagonet gave a small shake of his head, and Elowin bit her lip, wanting to hold the young boy. She looked to the others, seeing Arthur kneeling beside a woman.

"She's a Woad," Tristan said as he sheathed his sword, sitting on top of his steed.

"Stop what you are doing!" Marius yelled, stepping forward.

Elowin saw Arthur stand, and she scooped the boy in her arms, moving his farther back into the wagon. Dagonet joined her, snatching at blankets. Together, they bundled the boy up, taking care of his arm.

"What's your name, son?" Dagonet asked, giving him some more water and a piece of bread.

The boy looked from them both, chewing slowly on the food. "Luca," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Elowin smiled, and crawled out of the wagon. Tristan rode his steed up beside it, leading her mare. "She's been well taken care of, my lady," he said. She reached up, taking the reins. He grabbed her hand, holding it firmly. "I do apologize, Elowin."

She looked up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. She nodded and smoothly mounted her mare, glad to be back in the saddle. She moved away as Arthur brought over the woman and placed her in the wagon with Luca. Marius's wife got in also, and began ministering to the boy and the woman.

"Let's move out!" Arthur roared as he mounted his own steed, and the caravan began moving.

Elowin stayed near the rear, her bow drawn and ready. The snow was beginning to fall thicker, the white flakes giving the land a grey look. Occasionally, she rode up near the wagon carrying the injured pair.

"How is the boy?" she asked Dagonet during one of these visits. She could hear him moaning weakly.

"He burns," the knight answered, glancing at him and brushing a damp cloth across his forehead. "Brave boy."

Elowin nodded, slipping to the back of the group again. Her cloak, now dry, was draped around her, though her hood was down. Her hair dancing like fire in the wind. Tristan appeared beside her, as he so often did. She had grown used to seeing him beside her. He was a comfort, though he was as silent as she as they kept watch.

Tristan whistled, startling her. A falcon landed on his outstretched arm, and she admired the animal.

"He's beautiful," she whispered.

"He's been my constant companion for these many years," he said, his voice low. He glanced at her, and she could almost see him blushing under the tattoos on his cheeks.

Elowin smiled, nodding. Her thoughts turned to the boy, and she uttered a small prayer for him.

"Why do you do that?" Tristan asked, his brow furrowed.

"Pray?" she questioned. He nodded once. "I am worried about the boy, Luca. I was asking God to watch over him."

Tristan scoffed.

"You don't believe in God and Heaven?" she asked.

He looked to her, and let the falcon fly off. "I've been surrounded by this hell all my life," he said, his voice gruff. "How can I believe in Heaven?" With that, he rode off, not glancing back at her.


End file.
